Chapter 127 I'm done playing, I flip the table.
As you walk back to camp, Mina's headlamp beam moves across the ground.
With her leading the way, all obstacles disappeared.
You suddenly ask, "Do you really think... this summer camp was enjoyable?"
The person next to you paused, turned to look at you, and looked somewhat surprised, but quickly smiled.
"This question came as a surprise."
You whispered, "But you should know why I asked that."
She paused for a few seconds, as if organizing her thoughts.
"I was actually very happy the day I arrived."
Her tone was not fast; she expressed herself clearly and gently.
"The professor's research interests are related to a course I particularly enjoyed during my undergraduate studies. I left a comment on her paper, and she actually replied to my email personally. I was so excited."
Looking into her eyes, you realize she truly loved this trip.
She continued, "She used to be very creative in discussions and was willing to mentor newcomers. At the time, I thought that someone who had reached the top in the field but still didn't have any airs must be particularly gentle and have a lot of personal charm."
You didn't interrupt her.
"Her summer camp isn't easy to get into, but after that incident... Anyway, I didn't believe those rumors about her. I still applied this year and was finally selected. But after I arrived, I realized that she is the kind of person who is truly 'only passionate about research'."
Mina said this in a very careful tone, as if to make sure you weren't trying to trick her into revealing information.
You noticed "that thing," but didn't mention it for the time being, planning to ask her about it later.
“She keeps her distance from everyone. Sometimes she doesn’t even remember our names, even if we had dinner together the day before.”
This didn't happen in your memory.
So you ask, "Yes, when summer camp had just started?"
"Yes, it was when we were doing intensive training at school." Mina nodded.
You simply replied softly, "I feel the same way."
"I know that some academic authorities are just like that, but the professor gave me a feeling... not cold, but empty."
Mina bit down hard on the word "empty".
Looking at her profile, you notice a restrained yet profound sense of dejection.
“Sometimes she would write strange things in her notebook. I saw it by chance—she divided us into several functional groups.”
You paused, stunned: "What kind of function?"
“High-quality receptors, balancing factors… it’s like conducting a biological experiment.”
Your head buzzed.
“At least at the beginning, she didn’t remember us by our names or appearances, but only by how we reacted and categorized us according to our functions.”
As if you had finally grasped a thread that could lead to the conclusion of everything unusual, you whispered, "Then, did she say anything strange?"
Mina thought for a moment and said, "A few times she's said to herself that we were a good group of people, with the potential to 'complement each other naturally.' Another time, she looked at Max and Carlos and said, 'The bones are showing, and the shadows are moving.'"
You suddenly look up: "She really said that?"
Mina was a little surprised by your strong reaction: "Yeah, I thought she was using a metaphor at the time, I didn't quite understand... Who are you?"
You immediately composed yourself and gently shook your head: "It's nothing, I just... thought it had a bit of a literary feel to it."
Mina nodded and didn't ask any further questions.
You then asked softly, "So, who is overseeing her research project?"
Mina paused for a moment before saying, "The National Science Foundation used to be involved, and their review process was quite lenient."
You immediately realize this is a perfect opportunity to bring up the topic. You put on an innocent expression: "Huh? But I feel that although there are fewer applicants this year, the review process is very strict."
She paused, then added, "It's 'that thing'."
You grasp this point: "What exactly is it?"
She paused noticeably, as if to confirm whether your question had a purpose. But you waited in silence until she finally spoke.
“That was two years ago, also a scientific expedition project in Amazonas.” She spoke softly, “The topic was tropical rainforest landforms and soil-water interaction. It’s quite similar to this one, but much more formal.”
"Was the person involved a student?"
“Yes. A graduate student went missing during a nighttime geomorphological survey.” She paused. “He wasn’t found until several days later in a fault zone two kilometers from the camp—his leg was pinned under a rock, his neck was broken, and he was already dead.”
You frowned: "What did the official statement say?"
Mina bit her lower lip: "The professor wrote in the report that the student 'deviated from the route on their own and did not follow the team rules.' The foundation's investigation team did investigate, but she provided a complete camp route, daily schedule, observation logs... as well as medical evidence of the student's 'abnormal' behavior that night."
"And then what happened?"
She let out a soft sigh: "The foundation has temporarily frozen her project funding for the first quarter. She's been on leave for a few months and is no longer in charge of leading professional projects, that's all."
You didn't speak, but your eyes suddenly darkened.
Two years ago, a student died mysteriously during a scientific expedition she was leading. Not only was the professor not held accountable or had her license revoked, but she was even allowed to lead students deep into the rainforest two years later?
As you stare into the depths of the night, a cold light flashes through your mind.
Mina had already started talking, and she continued in a low voice, "Actually, I don't really care about these things. Being able to learn from a respected professor is more important than anything else. Sometimes even the professor can't do anything about it. If someone in the team is going to do something reckless, who can stop them?"
"What if you were the one who got into trouble?" you couldn't help but ask.
“Well, I’ve already learned a lot.” Mina smiled. “It’s not about pursuing grades, but about ‘experiencing’ and pursuing knowledge itself. That’s probably the meaning of life. It’s not a big deal to die for it.”
“If I want a safe environment, why don’t I study finance? That way, my family will probably understand me better.” Mina looked at you, and in her dark eyes, which were the same as yours, there was a spark that you could both understand and not quite understand.
"Don't get me wrong, I just want to confirm... You mean, you only feel bad that the professor didn't remember your name, but nothing else matters, right?" you said, trying to provoke Mina.
You wait quietly for her to say those words.
"What do you mean by that?" she asked, and you finally felt relieved.
This is your first time entering that little box as the "challenger".
This is a silent, transparent cabin space with blurred boundaries. It's like a classroom, or perhaps a cramped study room in a cram school.
You and Mina sit facing each other, surrounded by floating images of certificates, SAT practice books, and awards. On the table sits a glass of iced bubble tea, steaming cold.
“Do you know how annoying you are? You think you’re a Yazhou person just because we’re both from Yazhou, so you want to stick with me; or you’re like those people who like to ‘remove Yazhou and enter the sea,’ always trying to use rebellion to pretend you don’t care.”
Observe her calmly.
She leaned forward and continued, "You think you're rebelling, but you're just not given the chance to be chosen. It's not that you don't want to go on stage to receive an award, it's that you're not qualified to stand in the spotlight."
You softly uttered, "Aren't you different?"
She paused.
You continue, your voice gentle yet pushing forward inch by inch: "You hate it when others define right and wrong, intelligence, excellence, and whether you 'represent the Ya people,' but what you crave most is to be chosen, stamped, and recognized by them."
“You criticize the professor, doubt her, and say behind her back that she’s empty-headed, but when she calls you by name and says you ‘handle materials very meticulously,’ you’re happier than anyone else.”
Mina gritted her teeth and did not refute.
“You don’t rebel against authority. You just hate that you’re not close to authority,” you laughed.
Mina was jolted, her eyes filled with raw confusion and anger.
You deliver a low, knockout punch: "You're not as passionate about research as you think. You've just jumped from the authority figure in your family to the authority figure in another academic field! What is the real you? Is the meaning of your life scientific exploration, or is it constantly seeking recognition under the authority figure you've chosen?"
Her tears welled up in her eyes at that moment, but she stubbornly refused to let them fall.
Cracks began to appear on the walls of the space, and all the awards and certificates turned to ashes, falling among you in a flurry.
You both return to the real rainforest night.
Mina stood still, and you knew she wouldn't stop you from doing whatever you wanted.
You've finally managed to get some progress back in the situation.
Mina may truly be the "breakthrough" in this summer camp incident, not only because she hasn't been marked yet, but also because of her understanding of the professor and her fan-like adoration; however, you won't let her lead you astray.
You are thinking about what Mina said earlier, and the experiences from Professor Shia.
Perhaps, getting through this crisis is quite simple.
If "accidents are common in the rainforest" is an acceptable reason, then why can't you use that to end your summer camp trip early?
The camp was right in front of us.
"Mina, can you stay in the tent after we get back?" you said.
Everything needs to be resolved tonight.
If you don't know the whole story, then you can't just wait for time to pass by and for everything to happen to you in the end.
Mina nodded blankly, without saying anything more.
Great, that way there are no eyewitnesses.
You walked into the camp with a knife tucked in your hand.
However, it seems you're a step too late.
As you step into the familiar yet unfamiliar light, you see that they are all standing.
They weren't sitting in a circle, nor were they scattered randomly; instead, they were arranged in a subtle yet orderly arc.
Everyone.
Students, teaching assistants, guides, and support staff. They stood so steadily, yet their expressions were vacant.
It was as if they had rehearsed beforehand, or as if they had no emotions to express at all.
Apart from the professor, she wasn't in the middle; she was at the very front.
She stood on the opposite side of the fire.
She just stared at you, and slowly, without any attempt to hide it, drew the gun from her side.
Her movements were calm and practiced, as if it wasn't the first time she had done something like this.
She didn't lift it up, but you could hear the crisp click of metal.
The bullet is already loaded.
Where did you go?
You look at her.
No one spoke up for you, let alone came to your rescue. As for Mina, who was frightened by the scene and quietly hid in the tent, she was not within their notice.
Everyone just stood there.
Professor Shia, rather than a rigorous scientist or a strict teacher, was more like an administrator, supervisor, and executor of judgments.
You suddenly become curious: there are six students in total, so what is your role among them?
The professor asked a second time: "Where did you go?"
A leaf blew in from the forest, swirling as it fell into the fire with a popping sound.
You scratched your head and said in a calm tone, "I went for a walk and thought about something." You walked casually into the crowd.
"I'm sorry, Professor, I just lost control of my emotions. I'm very hungry now, may I eat first?"
You sat down by the campfire and filled your own bowl with your own portion.
You chewed under the watchful eyes of everyone, while the professor's hand remained still.
She did not fire.
But she didn't give up.
The air seemed to freeze over the black metal tube—you could feel it was only an arm's length away from your heart.
You said, slowly and deliberately, "Professor, if you were to shoot me just because I was late, that would be against any law or regulation."
“I’m a very well-behaved student, there’s no need for you to be so wary of me.” As you said this, you put your clean bowl back in the cleaning box, took a step forward, and your foot firmly landed on the ground in front of her.
You raise your hand to show her your innocence.
“Professor…” Becca called out to her.
She finally, slowly and with extreme reluctance, put the gun away.
It's not about tucking the belt back in.
It was clutched in my hand, as if it might shoot me at any moment. But at least now the gun was pointed at the ground.
Watching her actions, you calmly said, "Thank you, Professor. I will cherish your trust."
Should we go for it? In short—this is the only chance.
You hold your breath, and like a taut bowstring suddenly snapped open, you grab her right wrist!
Her face instantly paled, her eyes flashing with a mixture of surprise and madness: "What are you doing—"
Before she could finish yelling, you had already grabbed a pistol in your other hand.
The professor reacted quickly, trying to twist and break free, but you were prepared, delivering a knee strike to the back of her knee, slamming her into the side of the fire!
She knelt on the ground, her fingers still gripping the gun tightly.
You gritted your teeth, let out a low growl, pressed your whole body against her, and with a sudden twist of your thumb, you finally forced the gun out from between her fingers!
You take a step forward and steadily raise your gun.
“Now, everyone listen to me, go and squat over there,” you said.
You feel like your voice doesn't come from your throat.
You were even a little dizzy, wondering how things had gone so smoothly. You had originally thought that if it didn't work, you could just take out your hair and use it in front of them, since none of them would survive anyway.
Tie everyone up, crawl into the professor's tent, and find her backpack.
You sit by the fire, take everything out of your backpack, and then openly begin to read.
Turning to the first page, the handwriting is neat, calm, and a rare, expressive font.
You continue flipping through the second and third pages, each page filled with meticulously prepared tables recording various vegetation types and geological conditions. Just reading these contents, even if you don't recognize many of the technical terms, you can feel her passion and professionalism.
Until a certain page.
The handwriting began to slant. The words became smaller and shrunken, as if the writer wanted to hide their voice inside the paper.
Starting from page 50, what you see is not a record.
The question is:
"If the will of fungi surpasses that of humans in an instant, does that mean that humans should be the hosts?"
"When I saw the light in His eyes climbing up my spine, I knew I would be embraced by Him too..."
This is the first time that such emotionally charged writing has appeared in the notes.
After that, the professor's research direction seemed to change.
She began studying fungi—their parasitic cycles, changes in host behavior patterns, variations in external air pressure, and internal hyphal patterns.
It looks like they're really doing "research." And they're doing it very well.
Then the text began to repeat.
You turn to the next page, and there's only one sentence: "I think I don't need to say anything more."
Over and over again, from beginning to end.
Turn to page seventy.
The hasty handwriting gradually turned into simple horizontal lines.
There are no words.
There are only rows of deliberately drawn, aligned, densely packed horizontal lines.
They vary in thickness; some are sunken, some are raised, and some are broken in the middle.
It looks like she's still recording—
But she no longer knew what to write.
She was just drawing lines.
Each line, like a certain rhythm, is like her nerves trembling, tracing, carving, trying to piece together a certain shape between her fingers.
You finally couldn't bear to read any longer and turned to the last few pages.
It's all horizontal lines.
Up to the latest location.
Your hand accidentally brushed against it, and the ink stain hadn't even completely dried yet.
You slam the notebook shut, trying to forget the horizontal line that's still visible in your peripheral vision.
You approach the guide with the knife, his expression calm, even after you have cut into his flesh.
His skin was crispy, and the inside was hollow.
The same goes for Freddie.
"You can't stop it—" the professor suddenly burst into laughter, his expression ferocious.
Yeah?
"It's been a lot of work for you all to put on this show." You muttered to yourself, shaking your head, and took out all the other books and notes from the professors, searching for solutions to this situation, or at least evidence that would help you understand the current situation.
You quickly found a magic circle with obscure and difficult-to-understand characters drawn on it.
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The author says: I hope Tiger has expressed what he wants to convey: whether it's from his own experience or from conversations with friends in the US-based online community, it seems that people there care more about labels and slogans, but what often seems unbreakable easily crumbles when questioned. This is the original intention behind the design of the "what do you mean by that" box. ^ ^
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